I was athletic as a kid; and active as an adult; but there was a time when all the activity came to a halt. When life came to a halt.

Cancer does that. A couple months after my diagnosis, I was at a low point. I had two small children, a new husband, living in a new community where I had no support system. I had a complex case with a terrible prognosis. I was sore and stiff, recovering from a mastectomy—now in the midst of intense chemotherapy. In one swell weekend I lost my ovaries and my hair. I couldn’t even lift my spirits with chocolate— I had gone on a strict cancer prevention diet— no meat, no fat, no sugar.

The result of all this was another low point—for my weight. Yeah– sometimes you get what you wish for. Only I didn’t look like a supermodel; I looked like a concentration camp victim. I never felt weaker.

It was exactly at this point that my father-in-law suggested I come into the gym with him and start lifting weights.

One unexpected result of our sessions was to bond me to my new father-in-law for life. For my life. And what he gave me in the fight to save my life.

We met twice a week. Not counting the talking, the exercise part took maybe twenty minutes each time. That’s it.

He started me off with what I could handle—one pound.

I made progress slowly and gradually; though I worked hard, it never felt like hard work; I never broke a sweat. I wasn’t aiming to wear a bikini or a size 0—yet ironically, within a few months I had the body I always wanted—-minus a breast and all my hair.

But it was never about my appearance.

It was never about strain.

It was never about sweat.

It was all about strength.

And not just in a physical sense. Other things seemed to grow stronger along with my body—my inner strength, my resolve, my belief in myself. I didn’t lose the fear of cancer—ever—but I did lose the feeling of being helpless. In the middle of being “victimized” by the disease I’d feared all my life, I felt oddly powerful—as if I could take on anything—doctors, the medical community, cancer itself.

I never asked my doctor if I should lift weights. Which turned out to be lucky. Because the study I read today is another one that turns conventional wisdom on its head. After 50 years of doctors telling breast cancer patients NOT to lift weights, this study proves it’s GOOD for you. (Even if you have lymphedema–which I was lucky never to get and possibly prevented by lifting weights.)

I won’t even start on the subject of how to know when to listen to your doctor’s advice. But since I wasn’t a doctor, and I didn’t know any better, for 15 years I’ve been urging women with breast cancer to do weight training of any kind —if not for the physiology, then for the psychology.

As Deborah ponted out in yesterday’s comments, fitness is holistic—- physical, mental, and emotional. It’s something you do for yourself—and that means at your own comfort level, and for your own needs. I don’t sweat—or stress about it. But I exercise—because I learned from cancer what motivates me— not how I LOOK but how I FEEL.

Comments

Thank you for repeating the “fitness is holistic” idea, cause that took me several years to understand and create ..FOR ME..
I loved the physical sweating part, but as you age the other parts become so integral to “wellness, “fitness” and most important “healthy”. Each one of these is relative and personal.
Whatever one does to be healthy is best and right for them. So, take the dog for a walk, light some candles and ohmm some yoga, get on your bike and cycle across country or around the block, just get going smile and MOVE. Thanks for the conversation Darryle, I love that we are sharing many. BTW, we just came back from our Sunday beauuutiful 23m bike ride, and I feel like a gazillion!

Deborah–
Love the conversation too, and enjoy having your perspective—even if I can’t quite understand how anyone can feel so great after a 23-mile bike ride. You should join my sister and Paul. Perfect eveidence that fitness—and how we feel about it– is personal and individual.

Maureen: I still have to push myself to exercise but agree, I always feel better afterwards— especially stress-wise.

For years I have used exercise to control depression. It works a lot better than drugs for me. When I was getting divorced — which is pretty depressing — I needed more than just a little exercise: so I ran the London Marathon.